Stuck on You
by The Bitch Who Died
Summary: Being stuck with your sister at a school dance is one thing. Being literally glued to her immediately after is another. /or/ "I guess you're stuck with me." \One-shot/ AE (alternate ending) (also on my Wattpad account, The0ddes0ne0fAll) [thundercest] [max/phoebe] R


So, this is entirely because of the new episode, Going Wonkers. It felt needed. Anyways, this would take place right where it cut off. Obviously, an alternate ending.

* * *

"Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my _freaking_ God, Phoebe! This is not good, this is terrible, I was _just_ stuck with you all night!" I exclaim. Do you have _any_ idea what just happened? I'm _glued_ to my sister. And our entire family _just_ went to bed.

"Max! Calm down, we have to figure out a way to get unstuck," Phoebe _slaps_ me. _She_ slaps _me_. OW! Freaking ai, Phoebe! She's supposed to be nice and caring and pretty and smart and oh, my God, what's wrong with me? Spending all night with her is driving me crazy.

"Did you just slap me?" I ask, rubbing my cheek with my free hand.

"Oh, my God, Max, I'm so sorry," she says, wide eyed, "are you okay?" Her fingers dart lightly around the red mark. A golfball rises in my throat as I stare at her. She has . . . Really pretty eyes. How did I not notice before? Wait, why am I even thinking of this?

"I'm fine, Pheebs, let's just . . . See if our heat breath can melt the glue," I mutter, shifting awkwardly in my own skin.

"Okay, uh, I guess _I'll_ try," she nervously murmurs, like she doesn't think she can.

"Yeah, that's a great idea, you've got better control of your heat breath than me," I tell her, smiling weakly.

She smiles thankfully and gives it a go.

. . .

Nothing.

_Nothing._

Oh, my God, nothing. This is bad. This is really bad.

"It didn't work, why didn't it work?" I ask.

"Max, I think it might be _Dad's_ superglue," she whispers.

"What? _Hank's_ superglue? No! Nononono! It can't be the superglue, it can't be!" I panic, breathing deeply.

"Is it . . . Is it so bad being stuck with me, Max?" She asks, hurt layered in her doe eyes.

"Phoebe," I wince, "it's not that, it's just . . . I don't know how to say it, I just . . . You'll think I'm weird if I tell you."

"News flash, Max, we're 14, it's a little too late for me _not_ to think you're weird so, whatever it is, you can tell me," she whispers, giggling slightly.

"It's just . . . You distract me, a lot," I admit.

"I . . . _Distract_ you?" She cocks her head, blinking slightly.

"Yeah, I sorta spend time . . . Noticing _things_ about you, like your eyes and your smile . . . That kinda stuff," I shrug, nervously looking down.

"Wait, like . . . Like you . . . _Like_ me?" Phoebe whispers, wide eyed.

"Uh, well . . . I, um . . ." I trail off, scratching the back of my head because oh, my God, I like my sister. I _like_ my sister! And I'm admitting it to her! What are you doing, Max? She's never going to speak to us again! She'll hate us!

"Um . . . Well, I know . . . I know it's, you know . . . _Wrong,_ but . . . I, um, I . . ." She sighs in frustration, obviously trying to figure out how to say _it._ Whatever _it_ is. Wait, is _it_ what I hope it is? She might, she might not think I'm a total weirdo, she might - she's kissing me. She's kissing me and it's the dizziest, happiest feeling there is. Like . . . Like rain on bare skin, like a roller coaster, like laughing, like your birthday, like cotton candy, and like fireworks, freaking, cliché fireworks all at once. Screw society, screw Courtney, screw Cole, this is now. This is happening and . . . And none of them can change that.

"I get it," I whisper, smiling.

"You do?" She asks, hopefully.

"Yeah. So, I guess you're stuck with me," I nudge her, playfully.

"I guess _you're_ stuck with me," she laughs that beautiful, wonderful laugh.

"I can live with that," I tell her.

"Yeah, me too," she smiles.

". . . Wanna make out?"

* * *

Hold back that follow or favorite,

And trade it for a review,

It'll serve as feedback & motivation for my writing tricks,

And otherwise, I might just slap you.

- Queen Alison the Obstinate


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